Martini's Tuesday Tirade.
Part Uno.

I had one of those mornings that only a single parent could understand. The kind that might make a regular person curl up into a ball in the corner, crying for their momma. But oh, no ... not this girl.

I'm tired. Why? Because I was up watching the Yankees game last night. Z hit it right on the head this AM when she said that: "the Yankees wanted to sweep but since they won game 4, they just decided to let them have the game last night so they could take it back to the Bronx to win!! " Hell yeah. But they have to stop this 5-hour-long game shit, because I'm fucking tired. At least D kept me company on IM during the game. He tolerates my potty-mouth screaming at the players.

I woke up super hungry (I forgot to eat dinner last night), but as you all know I don't eat breakfast till I get to work. So this makes for a very cranky Martini. And this morning, Princess decided that a prudent course of action would be to smear pop-tarts on the cat (poor Salem) and dump milk on my freshly-ironed pants. Yes, I actually ironed this morning. Now, you see why I don't do such pedestrian tasks. Anyways. Wiped off the cat, changed my pants. Realize I'm out of gas (thank God for the dummy light). I left my security ID at home (I work in a secured building, because I guess people can get a little pissed off when you take their house away ... but I digress ...), so I had to stand in line to speak to the inept security guards (that speak-a no Engrish). Then I had to wait to find someone to buzz me in. Bastards.

And now, I will sit at my desk and email The Others and blog all day long. Look out. I've got a rant to get out of my brain about "closing the deal". This should be good.

Till later ... for now, I must look like I'm working. Kisses.